A Dance
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Christmas Special spoilers! Oneshot. Carson/Hughes. Because he REALLY should have danced with her.


**I know people have already done this, but I wanted to as well because they REALLY REALLY should have danced together. **

**But I haven't written Carson/Hughes for a while so it could be dreadful. **

She was rather surprised to be asked to dance at all; apart from the requisite dance with his Lordship. She rather suspected that she was generating her own "atmosphere"- much as she was loathe to admit it- and that people were consciously keeping their distance. But she was asked.

She was watching the floor, thinking of nothing in particular, because fully formed thoughts were a dangerous and often exhausting business these days, or so it seemed. That sounded ridiculously dramatic and tragic to the point of cringing even to herself, but she could not think of another way to explain it. She saw his shoes first and recognised him at once. No one else's shoes shine like Charles Carson's; he makes sure of that.

She should have known it would be him, no one else would dare approach her, knowing what she's been like this week. He dares to approach her, but little else, as far as she can tell.

He smiles softly at her, rather shyly, even for him, offering her his hand. For a moment she supposes that she must just stand there, looking at him confusedly.

"Mrs Crawley," he told her, "Has declined to dance with me any longer until I have danced with you. She says she won't go home until she has seen me dance with you, and she has seen you smile."

She tilted her head to look around him and- not very much to her surprise- found Isobel Crawley watching them fixedly without any attempt to disguise it, with a patient expression on her face. Yes, Elsie really did believe that the woman meant to stay there until she had seen them well and truly dance.

"Does she know that the servants are only really supposed to dance with the family at these things?" she enquired, raising her eyebrows slightly, "And that it isn't customary for the family to forced the staff into dancing with each other?"

"I think she does," he admitted, "But I don't think she really cares."

She paused for a second longer, before slipping her hands into his and followed him towards the centre of the room.

"She tells me that she has also had "the experience" of dancing with his Lordship," he informed her as he lead her, "And has asked me to offer my condolences to whichever of your toes has been taken off."

Elsie gave a smile and a little laugh as he took her other hand, placed his hand gently on her waist and began to lead the dance. Though, mercifully, the music was quite slow she still wasn't as good as him.

"Sorry," she muttered as for the third time, he had to steer her a touch more firmly in the right direction, "I can't seem to get my bearings right this evening, and I'm not the best of dancers anyway."

"It doesn't matter," he told her kindly, "I've danced with considerably worse than you. Considerably worse."

"It still can't be much fun to have to steer me round the floor like a lost sheep," she pressed on, "You don't have to, if you don't want to, you know."

"Do you want to stop?" he asked her.

"Not really, I'm quite happy like this, but if-..."

"Then I'm happy. Anyway," he added with a quite surprisingly playful little smile, "I knew what I was getting into before I asked you to dance. I wasn't expecting it to be a walk in the park." 

They danced in silence for a few moments.

"You were going to say something else just then," she told him.

"Perhaps there's a reason I didn't."

His answer sounded rather grim, and she looked at him rather confused. He was frowning slightly.

"Charles?" she spoke his first name softly, in light of the festive occasion, "What was it? I promise not to slap you around the face, whatever it was."

"Do you promise not to be hurt?" he asked her quietly.

She felt her breath catch in the back of her throat, but just about managed to nod.

"It was more I was terrified of saying something stupid and upsetting you," he told her, "You've been so... hurt recently."

"That was-..."

"That was no fault of your own," he cut in, reading her mind, speaking the words he'd been trying to fit in for days no, "I just didn't want to upset you any further."

Her hand tightened a touch in his.

"But Mrs Crawley said that asking you to dance would be worth the risk if it cheered you up, and I found myself agreeing with her."

Tilting her head back, she looked him full in the face, as she realised she had been avoiding doing up until now.

"Charles, did you only ask to dance with me because Mrs Crawley told you to?"

For the slight hint of harshness that sounded in her question, his reply came with a small touch of softness. Without the contrast she might have missed it entirely. He was now, she realised, holding their clasped hands to his chest.

"No, Elsie. I've been looking for an excuse to for years."

**Please review if you have the time. **


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